Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ryanne
I pull up to Gwen’s minutes later, parking in front of the extravagant home owned by her and Forrest, located in one of the most prominent areas of Winchester. It brings back memories of the life I’ve tried hard to forget.
A life that may very well should never have been mine.
My mind and heart still reel with the possibility. In the small amount of time that has passed, I feel like it’s something I should have questioned all along. There were so many signs. Now that I am, I will not stop until I get the truth.
Pulling myself together, I steel a breath and lift my hand to knock on the door.
It opens moments later, revealing a surprised Gwen. “Ryanne.”
“Hi, Gwen. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you for a minute?”
Despite her warm smile she hesitates, looking up and down the quiet street.
“No one’s here but me,” I assure her.
Her eyes come back to mine, a nervous laugh escaping her as she shakes her head. “Of course. Forgive me. Come in.” She steps aside, allowing me to enter.
I look around from the large foyer and see that not much has changed since the last time I was here.
“Please, have a seat.” She gestures to the living room where I sit on the large floral sofa. “Can I get you some sweet tea?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
She sits across from me in one of the rocking chairs, folding her hands on her lap. “Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
I decide there’s no other way to go about this but to be blunt and lay it all out. “I need to ask you something. It’s about my parents.”
Her smile slips, her entire demeanor changing in an instant. Reaching for the dainty gold chain around her neck, she begins fidgeting with it. “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I—”
“Is my mother my real mother?”
The rocking chair suddenly comes to a stop, her body going rigid with tension as something akin to fear takes hold of her expression. “This is really something you should speak with your parents about,” she whispers.
“We both know I’d never get the truth from them. You’re the only one I can go to about this. You know them better than anyone.”
“Yes, I do. Which means I also know what they are capable of. Leave this alone, dear. It’s safer for you.”
“I can’t. I need to know. For years I’ve been the brunt of her cruelty, never knowing what I did to make her hate me so much.” Emotion bubbles up my throat, the painful memories of my past surfacing. “Please, Gwen,” I plead.
Her expression softens, the truth burning in her pale blue eyes, one I already knew in my heart.
“She’s not, is she?”
She shakes her head. “No. She’s not.”
Even though I expected it, the revelation still hits me like a ton of bricks, turning my world upside down and leaving me to question everything about my life, including who I am.
“Many years ago your father had a woman who worked for him,” she starts.
“Her name was Abigail Devereaux. She was a beautiful, kind woman, very compassionate. Nothing at all like Vivian,” she says, not bothering to hide her dislike of the woman who raised me.
“Rumors sparked that their relationship went beyond professional, which was further speculated when she ended up pregnant. Of course your father denied the affair and said the child wasn’t his, but most knew the truth.
It wasn’t long after that she disappeared. ”
“Disappeared?” I ask, fearing what that means.
“Your father moved her to another state. I know because I heard him and Forrest talking about it one night over drinks in his office. Shortly after she was out of the picture, Vivian announced she was pregnant.”
My eyes close briefly, betrayal coursing through me. God, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“I never believed it,” she says. “For months she never showed any signs of pregnancy. Into her second trimester she left town with little explanation and didn’t return until after she had the baby.”
“Me.”
She nods.
“What about Abigail? Where is she now?”
Regret flashes in her eyes, sending my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach.
“No,” I whisper.
“Wait here.” Standing, she leaves the room only to return moments later with a newspaper clipping that she passes to me.
My hand shakes violently as I take it from her, pulse pounding as I stare down at a face that looks so much like my own. The resemblance is so striking that it takes my breath away.
The headline of the article reads: Hiker discovers missing Idaho woman’s body in mountains.
The tears I’ve been holding in begin slipping down my cheeks, my heart aching for a woman I never knew but no doubt gave me life.
“When I saw this months later it confirmed what I already suspected,” Gwen says. “They took you from her and then they killed her.”
“How?” I choke out. “How did they get away with this?”
“They always do. This is just a long list of things they are all capable of. They will stop at nothing to get what they want.” The anger and bitterness in her voice has me looking back up at her.
“How did you end up here? You’re nothing like them.”
Shame resonates on her face before she looks away. “I had no choice. Believe me, if I had…” She trails off, unable to finish.
“Does it have to do with Thatcher?” I ask, my suspicion from last night rearing its head.
Her eyes come back to mine, pain prevalent.
“I saw the way you were both looking at each other,” I continue. “What happened between you two?”
Sitting back in her chair, a sense of calmness washes over her, a far away look entering her eyes. “Thatcher and I grew up here together but never in the same social circle, I’m sure you can guess why.”
I nod, knowing how different things were back then. Sadly, after the conversation with Hannah at the breakfast table this morning, it seems some things in this town never change.
“In the summer of 1967 that changed, and the farm boy who always caught my attention stormed into my life and swept me off my feet. Of course it was done in private, because even though times were changin’ colors still didn’t mix, but we didn’t let that stop us.
We would sneak down by the river at night and he would always bring me flowers from his mama’s garden.
We danced under the moonlit sky and boy was he a good dancer…
and kisser, too,” she tells me, a wistful smile on her face that triggers one of my own.
“He loved me like I was the only woman who walked this earth. Cherished me like no one ever had before.”
My heavy heart warms at the adoration in her voice, a love that obviously still burns so bright; a love that I know isn’t one sided.
“Then I ended up pregnant,” she reveals on a whisper.
My eyes widen, mouth popping open. A million questions emerge, but I can’t seem to form a single one.
“Despite the predicament I found myself in, I was happy. Scared as all holy but happy. Thatcher was too and promised he would take care of us. He said we would get married and have the life we always wanted, but we were robbed of our happily ever after.” Regret and sorrow swirl through her soft tone.
My stomach bottoms out, fearing for the tragic ending to this story.
“My parents had other plans for whom I should marry.”
“Forrest?”
She nods. “I didn’t love him. He was a bully, always hurting others, but my parents never cared. All that mattered back then was sticking with your own class. I told them I would not marry anyone other than Thatcher. When they found out I was pregnant they were so angry.”
A slight tremble enters her voice and it has my own hands beginning to shake.
“I stormed out of the house that night to meet Thatcher at our usual place. We were going to run away together, but everything went so terribly wrong,” she chokes out, tears beginning to slide down her weathered cheeks.
Slipping off the couch, I move to kneel in front of her, taking her cold hand in mine.
“There were so many of them,” she says, her breath hitching. “Forrest, Toder, Bishop, your father… Thatcher never stood a chance.” Her lips press together, sheer agony twisting her face.
“What did they do, Gwen?” I ask, doing everything I can to swallow back my own grief.
“They beat him so badly,” she sobs. “Held him down, burned him with torches before they cut into his body with a rusty saw, severing his fingers.”
Horror grips me, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces as I finally hear the truth behind his horrendous scars.
“I was so sure he was dead,” she cries, “but somehow, by the grace of God, he survived. I knew then I had no choice. I had to obey my parents’ wishes or next time he wouldn’t be so lucky. So I married a man I loathed to protect the one I love.”
It doesn’t escape me that her use of love is in the present tense. Confirming what I already suspected.
Hot tears track down my face, the vicious tale so vile it’s practically incomprehensible. I always knew something happened between Thatcher and the founding families, something big, but never in a million years did I fathom it could be this cruel and violent.
“Thatcher begged me not to marry Forrest, he swore he could protect us, but I couldn’t risk it,” she whispers painfully. “I couldn’t risk his life again.”
“What about the baby?” I ask, remembering the earlier revelation.
Devastation rocks her body on a vicious sob, her distress and sorrow striking me to my soul. “They killed our baby.”
A horrified cry escapes me before I cover my mouth.
“I was tied down to a table and forced to have an abortion I did not want,” she explains, almost numbly. “It was done so poorly that I could never have children again.”
“What kind of doctor would perform something so heinous without a patient’s permission?”
“Dr. Meyers,” she says, practically spitting his name. “He was a physician who worked for them. A monster.”
Anyone who could do that would be.